


Tag, You’re It

by PennywiseSewerSlut (totally_magneato), totally_magneato



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, Pennywise - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Pennywise is his own Warning, Slow burn i guess?, Tentacle Dick, eventual NSFW, feral pennywise, pennywise is a creep, playful Pennywise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-09-27 11:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20406943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totally_magneato/pseuds/PennywiseSewerSlut, https://archiveofourown.org/users/totally_magneato/pseuds/totally_magneato
Summary: You find out the stories Mr. Hanlon sometimes tells aren’t made up, and you find out the hard way.





	1. Chapter 1

It was just another day. In Derry, it was always just another day. You’d closed the library down, the way Mr. Hanlon taught you when you were sixteen, and the way you’d been doing it for the twelve years since.

You checked the clock, noting that you’d already stayed at the library two hours longer than you had planned. There hadn’t been a curfew in place for twenty-seven years. Not since that big storm all those years ago.

Not that you remembered the storm, oh no. You had only just turned three then, and although some of your earliest memories were from that year, you couldn’t remember the storm. But that was okay, because your grandmother had kept the papers. She helped with the rebuilding of Derry after that storm, and your dad, well he tried. You lost your mother in that storm, when the road opened clean up and swallowed building whole, like some sort of eldritch horror.

Since your grandma died six years ago, you were alone. Well, mostly alone. You visited with Mr. Hanlon as often as possible, learning about Derry and the library. Mike Hanlon, even in his old age, was something of a town historian, though his memory wasn’t what it used to be. But that was okay, you enjoyed his company and he’d made it a bit easier when you lost your grandmother. You didn’t feel so alone when you sat drinking tea with Mr. Hanlon on warm spring nights.

It was hard not to feel alone in Derry.

Lately, though, you noticed it was hard to feel alone in Derry. It had started with small trinkets. A single earring. An old spinning top that you were Certain was older than what your grandmother would be. A ring you had seen in a thrift store years ago but couldn’t justify buying. Small things. Nothing that truly made you pause and wonder. You were reminded of crows and how they sometimes befriended humans, bringing them shiny objects as symbols of their affection.

And then when the curfew started, the presents stopped. Children were going missing again, and sometimes when you were talking to Mr. Hanlon, he would say something about It happening again, but he would forget almost as soon as he said it. You knew the feeling. There was something, just out of reach, that you couldn’t quite remember about the summer before the flood. But it was there.

The curfew didn’t apply to adults, from what you had gathered about Derry, curfews never did apply to adults. The residents believed that the grown-ups were safe, but you knew better. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did.Even still, you felt safer when you were home before curfew. Not that that happened often. Curfew was 7:30 and the library didn’t close until 9.

It was just like any other day. Only it wasn’t, and you knew it. The drive to your small apartment wasn’t a long one, usually only five minutes when the entirety of Derry had settled in safely for the night. It wasn’t the greatest place to live, but it was a place. You were safe there, and the neighbors were quiet. The landlord was decent, so long as rent was on time. You checked the mailbox before climbing the stairs, and felt relief wash over you in waves once you had bolted the door behind you. Home was good. Home was safe.

When everything was said and done, your chowder in the bowl, a mug of tea ready to be drank, you retreated to your small bedroom. A queen sized bed sat in the middle of the floor, with Faerie lights and sheer curtains pinned above on the ceiling. It reminded you of stars. There, in the corner of your room, was a red balloon.

You were certain that hadn’t been there earlier. You never bought balloons. But it was there, plain as day. Just sitting there. As if it was watching you. And maybe it was. There was that feeling again, the sensation that something was just out of reach.

Shrugging it off, you snuggled down into your blanket nest, sparing your alarm clock a glance. It was flashing 12:03.

“Happy birthday to me,” you murmured, spooning chowder into your mouth. You were 29 years old. The chowder, though you had always followed your grandmother’s recipe exactly, tasted different than hers. It was still good, but it didn’t taste of home.

Your phone chimed a notification.

**Mr. Hanlon**:Happy birthday, my darling girl.

You couldn’t help but smile, sending a quick reply, Go to sleep Mr. Hanlon. Thank you.

Mike Hanlon was the only one in Derry who knew your birthday, and he always made an effort to make your day an enjoyable one. Maybe it was just a normal part of aging, but birthdays just felt sad anymore.

There was a chortle, and you jumped, spilling some soup on your bed. You looked around frantically, trying to place the voice and where it had originated.

“Oh, my poor sad, sad, sad little birthday girl.”


	2. Chapter 2

The voice was sweet but clotted, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Sad, sad, sad birthday girl. All alone and lonesome. But that’s okay! Pennywise will make it alllll better! Yes he will! Won’t be lonely with your dear friend Pennywise around. None of the boys or girls are sad with Pennywise the Dancing Clown!”

You stared, looking into shadow after shadow, searching for the voice. You moved your soup and tea aside, appetite forgotten. There was something about the voice that was familiar, as though you had heard it once or twice before. But that wasn’t possible, was it?

Mr. Hanlon said that sometimes bad things happened in Derry, though he never knew for sure what he was talking about if you’d ask. “Bad things,” as if that was the only answer in the world that was needed.

You rose from your nest of blankets, a quiet feeling of dread spreading through your limbs, making them heavy, leaded. You checked the closet, checked under the desk. The sudden silence was deafening, but everywhere you looked, you were met with only quiet shadows, still gatherings of darkness.

Turning back to your bed, you were convinced you had hallucinated it. Didn’t Mr. Hanlon say a lack of sleep could make you crazy? Well, you certainly felt crazy.

But there, in the center of your blanket nest, your safe space, your bed—he was. It was. Impossibly large was a clown, tufts of red hair sticking every which way, white face, the painted smile. The eyes were…they were blue. That’s funny, you could have sworn…

“Who are you?” You demanded. Common sense, years of finely tuned instincts fired to life under your skin, urging you to flee. This was more than fight of flight. Older somehow, possibly by millenia.

“I’m your good friend Pennywise!” The clown beamed at you, giving the ancient looking suit a jingle. Oh, those bells! The soft tinkling reminded you of Christmas mornings, of playing in the snow until your grandmother called you inside. They were pleasant, disarming even. They made you feel almost as if you were…

“Float…ing,” the clown giggled.

“I’m not friends with any clowns,” you informed him. Something told you “him” was not quite the right word, possibly “Him” or “It”, with capitals, the way one would address a deity.

“Oh, we’ve been friends for 27 years!” The clown replied cheerily, dipping a gloved finger into the chowder and bringing it to his lips for a taste. “You’re Pennywise’s special friend!”

“Listen, guy. I don’t know how you got into my apartment or what you’re playing at, but I have never met a clown in m—“ you stopped. There was a clown. Somewhere, some time, there was a clown. But surely you were just imagining things. Something absurd had happened and your brain just filled it in with a clown. That was all. THE CLOWN. Mr. Hanlon has mentioned it just once, in such quick passing. You’d mentioned something, and as if from very far away, Mr. Hanlon said, “That was The Clown in those days.”

“The clown, Mr. Hanlon?”

“Please, call me Mike. What clown? You sure I ain’t overworking you?” He teased.

The jingling of the clown suit brought you back to the present. He—It— unfurled from your bed. It towered over you, and you marveled how something that size could even fit into your apartment.

“For 27 years,” the clown started, “I’ve dreamt of you. I craved you. I’ve missed you!” He was advancing now, and you felt as if the whole room was shrinking as his body looked over yours. Instinctually, you shrunk away from him, though you were not scared. The clown sniffed, looking as though he was testing the air.

“What do you want from me?” You inquired, eyes peering upwards into his own. For a moment you thought maybe his eyes weren’t blue again. But as soon as you thought it, they were as blue as a sea after a storm.

“I want to make you FLOAT.” The cheery voice was gone again, leaving in its wake something distorted and warped, the stuff of nightmares, not the stuff of cheery circus clowns. He opened his mouth then, and you were expecting him to bite you, but his mouth just kept opening. Revealing row after row of teeth.

But then when his mouth seemed to pass any sort of human capacity—lights. You felt it, a firm tug at the fringes of your sanity, urging it to come apart within his gaze

(Deadlights)

There was that absurd feeling of coming apart, that unholy feeling of insanity, and then nothingness. There was nothing. All consciousness slipped from you, and the last thing you remembered was his face close yours, and alight with rage were eyes that were not blue.


	3. Chapter 3

When you awoke you found yourself in a blanket nest and burrowed down into it, grateful that the hulking clown was just a dream. But this nest didn’t smell like yours, and you sat up with a jolt, looking around.

You seemed to be on some sort of stage, somewhere you didn’t recognize. You could smell the sewer in the distance, but there was another smell, something more predominant than sewer, a smell you couldn’t place. It reminded you of your grandmother’s root cellar, the one you didn’t like when you were little. It reminded you of a smell that sometimes permeated from Mr. Hanlon on those strange occasions where it seemed like he wasn’t really there in the library with you. The unknown stench made you wrinkle your nose, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end.

“Hello?” You shrank away from the echo of your voice. The echo was too big. A chuckle was heard from somewhere off in the shadows, somewhere you didn’t want to look.

“My special friend is awake! Yes she is!”

“You kidnapped me?” You asked, flabbergasted. Out of all the ways to spend your birthday, you were kidnapped by a clown you truly thought you might be hallucinating.

“How’d you do it, small one? How did you get the deadlights?” It hissed, slinking forward out of the shadows like a predator. And now you did know fear, the only fear you ever had as a young adult, the only fear you carried into adulthood. Was he going to rape you?

The clown made a disgusted noise, similar to a snort. “Rape you? No, my human, I might tear the flesh from your back and feast on your heart, but I will not rape you. You’re Pennywise’s special friends. And now you have the deadlights.”

“What the fuck is a deadlight?” You snapped, kicking away at the nest you had been snuggled in.

The clown opened his mouth again, wider and wider until three shimmering orbs could be seen, their glow warm and comforting. Your sanity tugged, but you felt something deep within answering the lights. You opened your own mouth as wide as you could, and as Pennywise the clown closed his own, so did you.

“Oh,” you whispered, knowing now. The deadlights felt like home. Whatever was inside of you had found its home in the yellow lights of the clown.

“Where did you get them?” It asked.

“I don’t…know,” you answered honestly. “But you can’t just kidnap people!”

“I have been taking children of Derry long before it BECAME Derry!” The clown roared, and you suspected you had offended it somehow.

“So it’s you…you’re not just a story to keep kids out of the dark. You’re real.”

“You doubt My existence?”

“I doubted that it wasn’t a human taking children.”

“Oh, I am no human, pet. I am All. I am the Void. I eat worlds.” There was something about his voice, something otherworldly, and you found you believed him.

“You can’t keep me here.” At least, you hoped he couldn’t. Physically perhaps he could, but you knew even if he let you go your mind would be here, in this vast and empty cavern somewhere far beneath Derry. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“They wouldn’t believe you if you did, pet,” Pennywise said, stroking your hair. “But because you’re my special friend, I’ll send you home. But you’ll be back. I promise, little friend, you’ll come back to see dear old Pennywise again, yes you will!”

And then, without another word, you knew blackness again. But this time when you awoke, you were home in your own bed. Convinced you once again just had a strange dream, you stood to head to the bathroom for a glass of water. There, tied neatly to your bathroom doorknob, was a red balloon.

In large letters it said, “Welcome home.”

The clown was real.


	4. Chapter Four

“How was your birthday?” Mr. Hanlon asked the next morning. You gave him a tired smile, not wanting to tell him about the meeting with the clown.

“Just another day,” you said, shrugging. It wasn’t necessarily a lie, your birthday had been just another day for years now. Just because you met a strange clown didn’t make it any different. You spent the day missing your grandmother and any semblance of family. 

“I could have given you more time off, if you wanted it,” Mr. Hanlon said, “It might do you some good to get out of Derry.”

“It might do everyone some good to get out of Derry,” you mumbled, but Mr. Hanlon caught it anyway, and he laughed. You liked it when the old librarian laughed, it was a warm sound, and it reminded you of a warm drink on a cold fall day, all comfort and genuinely feel-good. Sometimes you thought maybe Mr. Hanlon could be considered your family, but you had a feeling he felt the same way as you about the idea-- he’d had a family once, years ago, and that was the only family he was ever going to have, he didn’t need more. 

Even so, you suspected the two of you were as close as “family” as either of you would ever end up getting in your lifetimes. 

“Well, you’re right about that,” Mr. Hanlon said. “I’m not sure what keeps everyone here in the first place, but it must have a pretty powerful draw, if it’s keeping even kids like you stuck here.”

You grabbed the cart of books to be returned, smiling fondly at Mr. Hanlon, “I’m not stuck here,” you told him, and you almost believed it yourself. “I want to be in Derry, Mr. Hanlon.”

“No kid wants to be in Derry, but keep telling yourself that, kiddo, maybe someday we’ll both believe it.” 

The only thing you did believe is that your life was going to get a lot more complicated. As you were shelving books, you heard a familiar giggle, and your blood ran cold. You looked up to the spiral staircase, staring at the red balloon that floated its way down the stairs, as if taking them one at a time. 

Your eyes scanned the library, frantically looking for the clown, but you saw nothing. There was no clown. Surely this was all just your imagination. 

Your grandfather, the monster that he was, used to say you had too much of an imagination. He was a right mean brute, always hitting and throwing when you let yourself get carried away in the clouds. Your grandmother had dealt with him miraculously, and she seemed happier with him dead. But he had been alive long enough to show you that humans could be the real monsters. 

Your grandmother had given you a nightlight one night when he had come home late, screaming and reeking of drink. She had held it in her hands, and given it to you gently, whispering that it would always keep you safe from monsters. It was a shame you didn’t still have that nightlight. Maybe it would have kept you safe from the clown. 

The day passed quickly, with students coming in to get books for projects, and old folks coming in to use the printer and copier machine that they had absolutely no idea how to use. 

Twenty minutes to close, and you heard the sound of footsteps approaching the counter, “I’m sorry,” you started, “We’re closing soon so it might be best to come back tomorrow.” 

“Well, actually, I came to see if I could walk you home,” a voice said, and you jerked your head up, but found you had to continue looking up to see the face of the man before you. For just a moment, his eyes...how did you think they were anything but blue? And then it hit you, hard, like a freight train. This was the clown. There was no mistaking it, if you took his height into consideration. If you imagined the red face makeup, it made sense. You swallowed hard, looking around, worried that Mr. Hanlon might see. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you told him sharply. 

“Why not? It’s not safe for a girl like you to be wandering around Derry after dark. Things could get you, things that bite.” Despite his human form, you found that Pennywise was unable to keep himself from giggling maniacally, and you startled when Mr. Hanlon came out of his office. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, eyeing the stranger warily. 

“Yeah, Mr. Hanlon. This is...” you trailed off. You couldn’t introduce this strange man as Pennywise the Dancing Clown, it would be insane. 

“Robert Gray,” he introduced himself, “I just came to walk the little lady home.”

“You never told me you were seeing anyone,” Mr. Hanlon said suspiciously, looking at you good and hard.

“It’s more of a courtship, really, and she’s slow to warm up, so technically she hasn’t lied, she isn’t seeing anyone.” 

“Well, I guess it’s alright then. Why don’t you head out a bit early? I’ll close up today.”

You thanked Mr. Hanlon, and before you knew it, you and your new friend Robert Gray were walking out of Derry Public Library, arm in arm, and you wondered if you would ever see the light of day again. You didn’t know the extent of this creature’s shapeshifting abilities, but you did know you didn’t trust It. There was something feral, something ancient about this being, even in this form. 

You wished you had the light from your grandmother. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mild smut for you!

You allowed Robert Gray to walk you home, the entire time something deep within you thrumming with the closeness and the contact. No words were spoken on your way home, but you felt as though the two of you were communicating anyway.

At your apartment door, you turned to thank him, only to find the clown where the handsome man had stood moments prior.

“Thank you, I think,” you said, unsure whether or not to smile.

“Things lurk in the dark, little pet. And sometimes humans are worse than me. But Pennywise will keep you safe, yes he will.”

His words caused a shudder to creep down your spine. You didn’t think you liked this strange protection from the clown, if that’s what it was. Something deep within told you it was possession, not protection, and that idea thrilled you. Thrilled you and terrified you. What you had done to enthrall an ancient eldritch horror was beyond you, but you didn’t think the strange

(Deadlights)

Light had anything to do with it. “Look, I appreciate the walk home, but you can’t come in.” You told him. The clown smiled, and this time his eyes were not blue.

“Someday, little one, you’ll beg for me to come inside,” he promised, and you shuddered at the innuendo. But just like he always seemed to appear, he was gone again.

You unlocked your apartment door, and made certain to lock it behind you. Not that it would make much difference if Pennywise decided he wanted in your home again.

Stripping from your work clothes, you walked naked to your bathroom, staring into the mirror. You opened your mouth wide, marveling at the little glow of soft light that rose up in your throat. “Fucking weird.” You could ponder over that light all night, but you had a feeling that you would not get anywhere with it.

You stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as you could stand it. A sigh escaped you as the water cascaded down your back, and tension eased from your muscles. Tension you hadn’t even known you were holding in.

As you lathered, you felt familiar heat pool between your thighs and in your stomach, and after rinsing you slid your hand down between your breasts and across the soft expanse of your stomach. This was something you hadn’t done in a while, something you did not take time to do, and you wondered if maybe you should start. 

As your hand found your folds, you pressed firmly against your clit, letting out a shaky moan. This felt superb. You mewled with pleasure as you dipped a finger into your cunt, the one that had been neglected for so long. It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried dating , you had, it was just that men in Derry seemed to be...well, lacking, in one way or another. You panted heavily as you chased your orgasm, back against the shower wall, head thrown back in ecstasy. As you neared your finish, the clown flashed inside your mind, and despite the disgust you felt, you imagined what it would be like if he were the one doing this to you, using his large hands to bring you to pleasure so intense you would weep.

“Pennywise!” 

And then you came, hard and loud. A soft sound, the sound of a giggle, bubbled up through the drain, and you couldn’t tell if you had imagined it or if the clown truly knew what had just happened. Feeling dirtier than ever you rewashed yourself, scrubbing your hair and body roughly before shutting the water off and grabbing your towel, furious with yourself. 

With your body dry but your hair still damp, you crawled between the sheets of your bed, anxious for sleep to take you. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut smut smut smut. Filthy dirty smutty smut. Dub-con, daddy kink, tentacle dick, the list goes on. It’s filth. My Pennywise smut is filth. Enjoy!!

There was delicious heat between your legs. Heat you had never known before. Your back arched off your bed, hands gripping fistfuls of your blanket as a moan tore through your throat.

You opened your eyes to look at what was causing such pleasure, only to find Pennywise down at the apex of your thighs, long tongue licking across your cunt. A scream bubbled in your throat and died there as you screwed your eyes shut. Surely you were dreaming. You must be. This couldn’t be real.

“Open your eyes back up, pet. I want you to see me when I devour you,” the clown purred.

“Stop,” you said feebly, not truly meaning it.

“This is what you wanted, little one. Heard you begging for Pennywise, yes I did,” his tongue was at your clit then, long, wet, and incredibly skilled. He nipped with sharp teeth and your hips bucked up from the bed, though you squeezed your eyes shut with shame.

“Naughty girl, look at daddy while he eats you,” the clown chided, and sharp fingernails dug into your thighs, causing you to cry out. Pennywise certainly had some idea of what he was doing, and before long you were coming, body wracked with spasms as you cane the hardest you’d ever had.

“My turn,” he said with a giggle, and crawled his way over top of you.

“Please,” you mewled, and violently he grabbed you by the hips, flipping you over and on to your stomach. You felt the glow inside your chest flare to life right before the sudden, forceful penetration.

You couldn’t help but scream, suddenly so full of his thick, writhing cock. This was wrong. This was filthy and bad. This thing wasn’t human, this thing killed the children of Derry and did who knows what to them. But this thing had only ever been kind to you.

But the way he fucked into you was not kind. It was feral, and his nails bit into your hips as his other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back with a snarl.

“I don’t know how you got the deadlights, little minx, but you’re mine now. You belong to Pennywise. All for Pennywise, now and forever. Oh yes. Yes.” The snarl was monstrous, something otherworldly and horrific, and fuck, did it make you wet.

“Yes, all yours daddy, all yours. As long as you want me,” you cried, slamming backwards into him, chasing your orgasm. He snarled again, the feral sound tipping you over the edge as you finally came.

White hot pain exploded in your shoulder, and you were distinctly aware that he had bit you, marked you as his special toy, and then he was coming, hearing pulsing deep inside of you as whatever his dick truly was pulsated. You could feel him filling you, and when he pulled out you glanced underneath you to watch as the sticky, tar colored substance dripped from your core.

Pennywise’s tongue lapped at your wound, and he was purring now. A large hand smoothed your hair down your back, “Come see me soon, Human. Pennywise wants to play again,” and with that he was gone, leaving you alone in your bedroom, convinced that perhaps you had imagined it all.

Except for the mess between your thighs and on your bedsheets, and the deep emptiness you suddenly felt at the loss of him, you would have said that you had been dreaming. But he had marked you as his now, and you knew he would come for you again. Sooner rather than later.


End file.
